


Tethered

by JudeAraya



Category: Glee
Genre: Clothed Sex, Communication, First Times, Frottage, M/M, Misunderstanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 17:04:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JudeAraya/pseuds/JudeAraya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine thinks Kurt wants to try something new- something he’s not sure he’s ready for. Written for this prompt: <i>Something smutty and/or humorous with Kurt and his bondage accessories.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Tethered

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [kb_holidays](http://kb-holidays.livejournal.com/) exchange. I want to note that I am in _no way_ kink shaming. Every thing that Blaine comes across in his research is _exactly_ what happened to me when I tried to do this research. Kind of an experiment in writing style and stream of consciousness going on here, as well. Lots of thanks to [](http://mimiheart.livejournal.com/profile)[**mimiheart**](http://mimiheart.livejournal.com/) for holding my hand through nights researching, to [](http://stut-ter.livejournal.com/profile)[**stut_ter**](http://stut-ter.livejournal.com/) for helping me with the porn, and [](http://lovely-spark.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lovely-spark.livejournal.com/)**lovely_spark** for betaing and trying really hard to teach me the way of the comma, even if I kind of really failed.

Blaine knows that Kurt uses fashion to speak- as a way to say something. Make a statement. Take a stand. He’s never felt that way- for Blaine, clothes have been another layer of armor, a way to make himself feel better. More grown up, more put together. His bowties and slicked back hair have always served to solidify his mask. But Kurt, Kurt’s clothes are always saying something. He’ll never admit this to Kurt but it’s only about 50% of the time that he has any idea what that message is. That’s ok, with him at least, because figuring Kurt out is often the best part of his day.

...

“Mmm, K-Kurt.” He’s whimpering a little, struggling to keep his voice down, because god, Kurt is doing that thing with his teeth again. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and he’s sprawled on Kurt’s bed, Kurt draped heavy and warm on top of him. Blaine is trying his best to stay quiet as they make out, greedy but careful, ears cocked for the tread of footsteps on the stairs.

“Shhh…” Kurt laughs softly against Blaine’s neck, sending shivers cascading through his body, down to his toes and fingers.

“Kuuurrt.” It’s a whine, playful and a little sexy, as Blaine tugs Kurt back toward his mouth. He leans up a bit, biting at Kurt’s lips. For a few moments they stay like this, Kurt panting into Blaine’s mouth, leg slipped between Blaine’s thighs carefully. This kind of intimacy is still new to them- new enough to be a little scary, a lot heady. They’ve only been doing this for a few weeks, but they've been trying to ease in, getting used to the feel of each other's bodies. They still stop to ask and look at each other, making sure they are comfortable and ready for each step.

For now it’s only about _feeling_. Kurt’s lean leg is strong and warm against him, his cock throbbing at the contact. Kurt’s hands are in Blaine’s hair; Blaine’s hands under the hem of Kurt’s shirt. They’re both breathing so hard. Kurt is shivering into Blaine’s fingers, and _oh god_ , he can feel Kurt cock against his hip. It’s hard, so hard not to thrust up; Blaine is pretty sure that he might explode if he doesn’t find some sort of friction or release _soon._

This is usually his signal to back off and ask to cool down, but Kurt is moaning, eyes closed. Blaine realizes his hands have dipped lower, fingers tracing under Kurt’s pants, just above the sweet line of his ass.

“Oh my god, _ohmygod_ Blaine what are- ohhhhh….” Kurt’s voice is muffled against Blaine’s skin, body shaking and absolutely writhing against him, grinding his hips down against Blaine’s.

“Kurt, oh _shit,_ ” Blaine can feel his eyes rolling up in his head as Kurt shifts, lining their cocks against each other, rolling slow and sweet against him, still moaning against him. “Oh, oh Kurt you ha—we have to stop, _mmmmm_ , oh, your Dad-“ Blaine tries to stop, really he does, but it feels so good and he’s pressing, itching and throbbing against Kurt, fingers still trapped in the back of his boyfriends pants.

Luckily, the word _dad_ always works on Kurt, who rolls away from Blaine without warning, leaving his boyfriend gasping and cold, teetering on the edge of something warm and delicious. For long moments they lay next to each other, careful not to touch, breathing and trying to cool down.

“Wow.” Blaine exhales, still feeling wound up and turned on and about four seconds from tackling Kurt and rubbing against him desperately. He hears a faint laugh as Kurt’s fingers find his, curling into his hand.

“That was…” Kurt rolls toward Blaine, head on his pillow, face flushed and beautifully turned on, slightly abashed but open and trusting at the same time.

“Yeah,” Blaine turns as well, careful to keep his hand in Kurt’s but the rest of his still trembling body away. “What-” Blaine bites his lip, hesitant. They’ve gotten better at this, at talking about what they are doing and trying to be open with each other. But this thing they have- their relationship, their feelings, _this_ feeling- is all very new. Very new and at times, embarrassing. He wants to say that it is always perfect, to remember their first time as magical. And it was.

Their first time was also awkward, and embarrassing, and incredible. He’d felt fumbling and exposed, self conscious and so desperately _naked._ Blaine remembers the headrush of trying to catch up; one week he was thinking about Kurt in his bed, frantically fisting his cock and biting down on his pillow, the next Kurt was _in_ his bed, trembling fingers on Blaine’s cock as they stared and murmured, _Is this ok,_ and _Yes, please, don’t stop,_ while getting each other off.

They’ve only managed to be together like that, taking their time, undressing and touching, praising and intimate, a few times since then. There are always parents, or the threat of parents, rarely time to really take their time and explore and _be_. Blaine has been careful, so careful, to be considerate and tender. To be romantic, always, and moments like this, moments when he feels it thrumming under his skin, _pleasewantmore_ and _yesnowyes_ , he has to breathe. He has to sit back and cool off, because Kurt deserves everything. Romance and candles and tender touches.

It’s all new, and a little scary, but it’s them. It’s Blaine and Kurt, and if there is anything they do well, it’s talk. Talking is the cornerstone of their relationship. So even when it feels uncomfortable or strange, he knows, he feels safe pushing through.

“What was that?” Blaine ghosts his fingers over Kurt’s hip, around his side and under the hem of his shirt, making Kurt squirm a bit and close his eyes.

“Just…where you were touching me was,” Kurt swallows hard, “It felt really good. Really, _really_ good.”

“Really? Just, everywhere?”

“No,” Kurt shakes his head, eyes still closed, then opens them to scoot closer. He slips his hand under the waistband of Blaine’s jeans, tracing one cool finger against his skin. Just a small circle, right at the base of his spine, over his tailbone.

“Ok…It feels nice but not…” Blaine is trying to focus on the conversation, but really his brain is short circuiting because Kurt’s _hands._ Are in his pants. _In. His. Pants._

“Really?” Now Kurt is frowning, pulling away a little.

“Sorry?’ Blaine rolls toward Kurt. He knows its dumb, but he’s like an addict, Kurt’s skin and touch are just so tempting, so sweet and even if it leaves him aching for hours, he can’t help but want just a little more. Well, if he’s being honest, a lot more, pretty much all the time. Stupid parents.

“So…” Blaine smiles, trailing a finger along the waistband of Kurt’s pants, dipping just under at the small of his back, biting back a groan as Kurt shivers and rolls imperceptibly closer.

“Noooo…” Kurt’s voice is small, almost a whisper. Kurt doesn’t really sound like he wants to be saying no, so Blaine just stops moving his fingers, waiting to see what Kurt really wants. When Kurt opens his eyes they are wide and serious. He leans in to kiss Blaine, delicate tongue slipping out to trace Blaine’s lips. There is something painfully sensual and erotic about the kiss.

“I’m sorry.” Kurt’s voice is a soft purr against Blaine’s lips, then cheek, then neck, “If you…if you keep going…I’m so turned on, it would probably be enough…” His voice trails off, not before Blaine can hear the embarrassment, which is almost lost in the wave of heat and wanting washing through his body. The idea that a simple touch like that, just the pressure of his fingertip against Kurt’s skin, might be enough…Blaine groans a little, taking his hand from Kurt’s waist to grab his chin roughly and bring him in for a kiss.

And of course, of course things start to get more heated. They’re teenage boys who cannot seem to keep their hands off of each other, even as they walk the fine line between desire and respect for each others boundaries. Blaine is starting to wonder, as he rolls over Kurt, pressing and shifting down into his body, how quietly he can get Kurt off and if it’s worth ruining his own pants when he hears the squeak of a stair tread.

When they hear Burt, walking heavy and slow up the stairs, they separate rapidly, Kurt rolling gracefully off of the bed and scooting onto his desk chair. Blaine sits quickly, pulling his physics textbook onto his lap, hoping his hair and kiss bitten lips aren’t too obvious. He figures Burt knows what’s been going on in here anyway- there is no way he normally walks that loudly for one, or that slowly. But the pretense seems to work for all three of them. This way Burt doesn’t have to condone or chastise them, and they are spared the direct embarrassment of having to talk to one of their parents about the more intimate side of their relationship.

“Kurt.” Burt knocks on the mostly open door, waiting for Kurt to invite him in before peeking his head in.

“What’s up Dad?” Kurt spins a little in his chair, and Blaine _knows_ that Burt knows they’ve been making out, there’s no way he _can’t_ know because Kurt’s lips are red, bright red, and _ohmygod_ is that a hickey? Blaine has to close his eyes, hoping Burt won’t see it. Burt is really very cool about them dating, and he’s never done the “Let’s sit down and talk about your intentions” sort of chat, which just goes to show how awesome Burt Hummel really is, because he _gets_ it. Gets that Blaine is a boy, and that Kurt is too.

The way that several members of the New Directions have made jokes about Burt getting out a shotgun has always really pissed Blaine off. Kurt isn't some sort of damsel in distress. It’s frustrating. Blaine tells himself that they just don’t get it, that it’s just easier to think of their relationship in small minded heteronormative ways, where one of them must be the girl, and of course that must be Kurt because of the way he looks or sounds.

But it’s hard, so hard, not to get pissed off because it’s these things that turn him on: the way Kurt smells when he’s flushed after dancing with the glee club, the broad spread of his hands, the flat planes of his chest, sharp hipbones and angled collar. These things make him so glad he’s gay, so gay, and Kurt, all man.

Which is all beside the point; even though Burt knows they are both guys, and that they make out (and probably more), Blaine doesn’t want to think about Burt knowing. Or thinking about it. Or anything remotely close to any world in which his sex life and his boyfriend’s father exist on the same planet.

“Blaine!” Blaine starts when Kurt calls out.

“Huh?” Seeing both Burt and Kurt staring at him strangely, he squirms awkwardly on the bed a bit, “I’m sorry I zoned out….the French Revolution you know…” He gestures lamely with his textbook, feeling his face heat up.

Burt clears his throat, “Yes well…revolutions aside, Carole wanted to know if you were staying for dinner tonight?”

“Oh! Oh, well, yes if that’s ok?” Blaine stops himself from fiddling nervously with the binding of his textbook, trying to smile. He loves family dinner at Kurt’s house, where everyone is warm and open and so comfortable. He loves watching the way they interact, laughing and talking over each other, Kurt and Finn bickering. It’s so different from his own family- who are nice enough, but nowhere near as close as this family.

“Of course it is.” Burt’s smile is sincere, which makes Blaine’s stomach twist happily, “I’ll let her know.” When Burt turns he closes the door behind him without a word, leaving a frowning Blaine and a gaping Kurt in his wake.

“Did he-” Blaine’s weak question is lost on Kurt’s laughter, which seems to be coming out of nowhere. Not that Blaine objects to his laughter: Kurt rarely laughs like this, this less controlled and buoyant noise. But he’d rather be in on the joke, all things considered.

“Kurt?” His smile is questioning and Kurt snorts a little, trying to get himself under control. Blaine waits, sitting and marveling at this Kurt, this boy that no one ever really gets to see, but he does because they love each other and with him Kurt isn’t that afraid, isn’t afraid to be less pristine and controlled and on top of everything all the time.

“Come here,” Kurt is waving him over, still laughing, face red and eyes bright. Cautious, Blaine stands, dropping what turns out to be a math textbook on the bed, blushing because _crap_ he was so obviously not studying the French Revolution.

Which turns out to be a moot point anyway, when Kurt waves him over to his vanity, turning Blaine so that he can clearly see the large and obvious hickey on his neck. The side of his neck that had been in plain view while he’d been talking to Burt.

_Oh my fucking god._

“And he closed the door.” It’s all Blaine can think to whisper, mortified and ten shades of red he’s never turned before, fingers tracing over the obvious bruise. “Kurt, he thinks…he closed the door and he’s going to think…” He shoots Kurt a dirty look because Kurt’s been reduced to laughter again. He’s bent double helplessly, enjoying Blaine’s mortification.

Still glaring, Blaine strides over to open the bedroom door. He’s taking no chances, lest Burt and Carole are sitting downstairs waiting to hear the sound of bedsprings squeaking or, god, moans or something. No. Just _no_ way. He likes Kurt’s family. He wants them to like him and he’s ok with all of them pretending that he and Kurt aren’t horny teenagers. Tacit admission that they all _do_ know and are ok with it is more than his people-pleasing brain can handle.

“Kurt,” he’s whispering, which Kurt seems to find even funnier. “Kurt, stop laughing, you have to help me cover this thing before we go down to dinner.” But Kurt is useless, draped over his vanity bench, laughing so hard Blaine almost wishes he would pee himself, because _God_ , he really needs someone to be able to commiserate with his levels of mortification, not laugh at him.

Eventually, Kurt calms down enough to be able to talk between giggles, waving Blaine toward his closet as he collapses breathless on his own bed.

“In the-” Laughter, “In the drawers…oh my god I haven’t laughed like this ever, _oh it hurts_ ….the plastic bins, there are older scarves…” He’s calming now, breathing while laying on his back and staring at the ceiling, not bothering to look at Blaine, who is staring transfixed in front of Kurt’s daunting closet. He’s kind of touched actually; Kurt has never let him near his closet without being at his side, closely supervising and eventually, shooing him away. But Kurt is practicing yoga breathing or some shit right now, and Blaine is still kind of annoyed, so he just takes a deep breath and opens the doors. Right away he finds the plastic bins stacked neatly in the corner.

Blaine kneels, opening the first bin on top, finding it to be full of last season’s sweaters, no scarves in sight.

“What are you keeping these in bins for?” He calls over his shoulder, not bothering to turn around.

“Well, some things I end up keeping and can refashion into something more in season. Otherwise they go to goodwill or get scrapped for a personal project.” Blaine smiles, pawing at the soft fabrics and thinking about how talented and resourceful and amazing Kurt is.

“There aren’t scarves in that one though.” Kurt’s reminder that he needs a scarf brings him back to his righteously annoyed reality, and he closes the bin with a snap, shuffling it to the floor next to him. There are three more bins, and none are see through. He’d ask Kurt which bin they are in, but Kurt’s gone back to laughing softly every now and then and that’s just sort of irritating. With a huff, Blaine opens the next bin, eyes wide and shocked at what he finds.

Glancing over his shoulder he sees that Kurt has rolled onto his side, searching his nightstand for something. Moving fast, Blaine pushes through the tangle of leather straps and studded collars, feeling his face pale and his heart pound. Because there is no way. _No. Way._ That these are what they look like. Kurt is so…he can’t…damnit, baby penguins! Kurt is supposed to be a penguin, what kind of baby penguins, or any sort of baby zoo animal, has, like…bondage stuff in his bedroom?

“Find them?” Kurt’s voice is relaxed and happy, and Blaine has to wonder that Kurt isn’t even worried that Blaine might find his secret stash. Stunned and a little dizzy, his brain is scrambling to figure out what the fuck is going on. _Maybe he wanted me to find them_ , he thinks. _Maybe he’s trying to tell me something._

“Blaine?” Kurt prompts.

“Yeah, sorry I was woolgathering and thinking about sweaters.” His voice sounds dry, his mouth _is_ dry, and his head is swimming as he closes the plastic bin and quickly pulls the next one out, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees that it is indeed full of scarves. Taking the two bins he’d opened and placing them back in the corner, he lifts the scarf bin over to the bed. If there is one thing Blaine Anderson is good at, it’s putting on a game face that hides his uncertainty and confusion. Vowing to think about those…things….later, he smiles at Kurt, “Wanna help me find one that matches my outfit?”

~*~

He manages to hold it together that night, through dinner, somehow even as he and Kurt say goodnight. But it’s there stuck somewhere in his brain, the whole time. It taints the long lingering kisses they share, with Blaine pressed up against the wall of his room, trembling and unsure. There’s a sort of itch in his brain, nagging him;the thought that maybe Kurt is just putting up with him. That maybe Kurt wants more, so much more, than what they’ve done. The whole drive home, Blaine is plagued by this idea. Does Kurt just not want more with _him_? Is he worried that he’ll freak Blaine out?

He can’t help but think back a few weeks ago, to that night in his room. At the time, Kurt talking about ripping clothes off and getting dirty had seemed playful; a way to open the door on the topic, to let Blaine know he was thinking about it. The whole mess: Scandals, his stupid, stupid behavior in the car- all of it had made him sure, positive, that Kurt needed romance. Slow and sweet and tender touches.

Now that night mocks in memory. Because all Blaine can do is wonder if Kurt thinks he’s the one who is boring. Boring and immature and inexperienced. He has to resist the urge to hit his head against the steering wheel. This whole time, he’s been so freaking naive. It seems obvious that Kurt wants and needs more, and here Blaine is still stuck back a few miles, in a place where Kurt’s fingertips just inside the waist of his highwaters is enough to send a tidal wave of want and need through him.

And what exactly is more? Because if he’s being honest, Blaine is freaked out. He has no idea, really, what those things are used for. The kinkiest thoughts he’s ever indulged include ideas like blindfolds, and maybe one day down the road, handcuffs or something. With someone he trusts and knows and, god, he can’t even think about these things in the same context as Kurt because it just doesn’t _fit_. Blaine is pretty sure he saw a collar in that bin, with a metal loop in the middle and _oh my god_ , what was that for? A leash?

Shaking his head, Blaine tries to focus on driving, because this? This is a lot to process. Because so far it’s been shaky handjobs and awkward rutting and the most incredible and delicious orgasms of his life. It’s nights like tonight, coming home turned on and flushed, coming home to get off, frantic and unzipped, imagining himself naked and slippery and flush up against Kurt. Imagining himself going down, tasting and feeling Kurt for the first time. Imagining and wanting and hoping for next steps that now, frankly, feel silly and immature. He’d been sure it would be a little while, getting there, because while he is definitely ready for some things, he hasn’t thought that Kurt is. And now he has all this new data suggesting that Kurt is ready for things that are miles ahead of him. Miles as in like, whole separate galaxies.

By the time he gets home, Blaine is exhausted, confused, and a little annoyed. After shouting a quick hello to his mother, who is reading a book in the living room, he runs up to his room. Guiltily, he shuts his door, missing his room at Dalton. Sure, he had a roommate, but he’d been pretty good about privacy. His father, on the other hand, is not. Telling himself that he isn’t planning on doing anything wrong, Blaine opens his laptop screen, ignoring the panicked butterflies in his stomach. _Research_. He is just going to do some research.

Blaine wastes five minutes fiddling with his iTunes, trying to pick the perfect playlist before giving up. Is there an appropriate playlist for this sort of situation? The ‘I’m about to research my boyfriends secret sex kinks that I know nothing about but kind of freak the hell out of me?’ playlist, Blaine is sure, is an art form not yet explored. At least not by him.

Figuring he’s stalled long enough, Blaine takes a deep breath. There really isn’t any use in dithering, or getting worked up, until he knows more about what he is dealing with. Once upon a time, the idea of certain intimate acts had scared the crap out of him, especially when Kevin Moffat had spent a good six months taunting him, calling him a power bottom, laughing as he described how much it would hurt to get fucked in the ass, and _wasn’t it a shame._ Research had helped Blaine then- given him information, control, even comfort. Theoretical intimacy no longer frightened him.

Actual intimacy- well it doesn’t frighten him exactly. Unnerves him, undoes him; makes him giddy and desperate and shaky. He’s had this whole plan, these ideas about levels of trust and intimacy and the way he might approach doing more and going further. All of which are based on several assumptions about Kurt and how Kurt feels and thinks about sex. And now, the revelations inside that plastic tote have really shaken his assumptions- about Kurt’s ideas of intimacy and what the next step should be and really, who Kurt _is_. The Kurt in his head is sweet, under all those layers of protective veneer. He is soft and vulnerable and peeling back those layers, layers of clothing and image, of sarcasm and bravado have been the most delicious task of Blaine’s young life.

There have been moments, especially in this past month, with Kurt in his arms, that he’s been sure. Positive that he’s managed peeled it all back. That the Kurt with him in those moments, lips kiss swollen, flush cheeked and trembling, whispered words of assent and love; that he’s finally reached it, the essence of Kurt.

Blaine knows he has no real right to be upset or angry right now. But he feels…cheated, or maybe betrayed. By the idea that Kurt has managed to hide something so important from him. Blaine doesn’t know anything about bondage, really. He doesn’t know if Kurt wants to be…bound? Is that even the right word? Or if he wants to exert some sort of control over Blaine, if that’s even what it’s about.

Frustrated, Blaine shakes his head, clicking on his browser button. He doesn’t know enough about any of this to make judgments, or assumptions. Perhaps there’s some sort of emotional or psychological element to the whole thing that Kurt needs or appreciates. Maybe it’s just fantasy. The only way he’ll have any idea will be to do some research.

Taking a deep breath, Blaine types Bondage into his google toolbar.

~*~

Three hours later, Blaine has a headache, has seen and read a lot of things he was definitely not expecting to find, nothing he was, and is frustrated by the whole experiment. It seems that no matter what he searches (bondage, bondage questions, BDSM, Bondage forums, and finally after reading multiple disclaimers and articles about unintentional deaths, safe bondage information) he always ends up somewhere with _far_ too much information. He’s read stories of women forced to take enemas (highlighting the importance of having safe words), pictures of people in extreme gear (lesson: what can be seen in porn is often too dangerous for real life), and learned how to check your partners limbs for blood flow (all while hoping fervently this will never be necessary).

Blaine sighs, defeated and confused. He’d gone into this expecting to find stories about people tying each other up to bedposts and, you know, pictures of handcuffs. But nothing he’s researched is even remotely simple; he’s found nothing that seems good for, well, a starter. And pretty much without exception, everything he’s seen is far and above his comfort level, which really scares him. What if these things, what if they are things Kurt wants? Blaine is sure he’ll do many things for Kurt. He’s more than willing to go outside his comfort zone to make Kurt happy; to try new things, experiment. But a lot of what he’s found tonight, he just cannot ever see himself being interested in or comfortable with. Obviously, this works for a lot of people, which is fine with him, to each their own. He’s just not sure it’s right for him. Trying to imagine himself, or Kurt, in that context only makes his stomach ache.

A glance at the clock tells him it’s 2 am. Tomorrow is Sunday, so he’ll be able to sleep in- at least until Kurt calls him, invariably asking him to go shopping or go to coffer or something proving to be fun and tantalizing. Most days, being close to Kurt is enough to get Blaine’s senses tingling, overloaded and sensitized and desperate to touch and smell. And, _yeah,_ he likes that. He wants to spend an afternoon in the mall, aching to kiss Kurt, settling for small brushes of their fingers in between clothing racks, secret smiles and the promises of stolen moments that evening in the car, or maybe even Kurt’s bed.

But right now, that feels pretty fucking dumb; he feels dumb, and ashamed. Like a child, wishing for quick touches, romantic gestures he’s seen and admired in movies. What’s worse, it makes him want to cry a bit, for the things he’s scared to lose. He’s scared that these images, burned into his brain, are all he’ll be able to see every time he looks at Kurt. He wants to be everything to Kurt, to give him what he wants and needs. There has to be a way, he’s sure, to make this work.

Confused and frustrated, Blaine snaps his laptop shut, cutting off his music abruptly. Mechanically, he gets ready for bed, avoiding all thoughts of Kurt and his research and anything that might remind him of Kurt. He needs to sleep. To calm down. To get ready to talk to Kurt.

~*~

Luckily for Blaine, Kurt does want to go shopping the next day. He spends the afternoon carting bags from store to store as Kurt blazes his way through several holiday sales. Kurt keeps him busy- coyly encouraging Blaine to try on outlandish outfits, laughing and teasing as he settles the seams of jackets over Blaine’s shoulders. His smile is sly and sweet, “It’s so nice, unleashing you from that blazer.” Blaine wants to share a smile, a look in a dressing room mirror but Kurt is busy, smoothing the lines of a red button down, eyes downcast, and Blaine is so in love, he doesn’t really have time to think or to worry. And when he does, it’s easy enough to push the thought away, to take Kurt’s hand for a few seconds as they went back to separate dressing rooms, to feel the lingering buzz of Kurt’s skin, soft and warm against his palm.

Blaine spends the rest of the day in a sort of Kurt induced haze, fingers curled around imagined heat, treasuring that closeness. Holding it inside, reassuring himself that what they have is real, and they are young, yes, but they are making this into something solid. Everything is going to be fine. They’ve always talked, even when it is painful or awkward. It’s their thing. They talk and work through things, and sometimes Kurt gets stubborn and tries to ice him out, but he’s always managed to break back in and through Kurt’s defenses and _we are going to be fine._ Fingers against his palm, Blaine squeezes as they drive home, singing together, reassured and reassuring himself.

Blaine loves this, these moments. After dinner, when they are done with the dishes, joking and fooling around with Finn or Burt; the moment when Kurt takes his hand and leads him up to his bedroom. Kurt’s fingers are cool and familiar, pressing into Blaine’s hand and he feels nerves like solid bricks in his stomach, but he just wraps his hand harder around Kurt’s. Her breathes slow and deep, trying to trust in the touch of their fingertips, in the love winding slow and deep through the atoms separating their skin and hearts.

~*~

Mindful of Kurt’s father, and the house full of family, they always start time in Kurt’s room occupied. If they usually end up on the bed, flushed and breathing heavily, it’s not for lack of trying.

For the moment, Blaine is sitting back against Kurt’s headboard, dizzy with comfort because honestly, Kurt’s bed is like a cloud. A heavenly, Kurt smelling, comfortable cloud of amazingness. Sinking in, he watches Kurt sort through his purchases, listening as he chatters about colors and the winter palette, piping up every now and then, but generally staying silent. Mostly, he enjoys watching Kurt at his best, unapologetically himself, carried away by the things he’s passionate about.

Eventually though, everything gets sorted. Bags are stowed and Kurt is crawling onto the bed with him, hooded eyes and sweet smile belying the way he’s draping himself slowly over Blaine. He’s warm and heavy, lips and fingers insistent and pressing, and for a few moments, Blaine lets himself go. Returning kisses and grasping Kurt’s hips, he pushes thoughts of the conversation he wants to have away.

Until his hands start slipping, fingers dipping under Kurt’s shirt, and Kurt is panting, biting down on his earlobe and whispering, “Want you, want more, _oh god,_ so bad.”

Which kind of stops Blaine short, freezing his fingers; he’s shifting a bit, away from Kurt’s lips at his neck. Pulling away, Kurt sits back, flushed embarrassment written all over his face. Scrubbing his face with shaky hands, Blaine pushes himself up to sitting position quickly.

“I…I guess we should talk.” Kurt’s voice is quiet but sure, which warms Blaine.

“Y-yeah.” Blaine hates the way his voice wavers. But this is it, now is the time. No time like the present. Some other cheesy line that will fail to motivate or inspire him to open this really scary door.

“So-” Kurt starts,

“Wait, can I?” Blaine interrupts, knowing that he needs to get it all out there before he loses his nerve.

“Ok, so I think before we do anything we need to establish like, a safeword and talk about hard limits and soft limits and-” He’s talking too fast to breathe really, desperately staring at Kurt’s comforter, “And I read about how it’s good to keep snacks around in case one of us passes out if things go to long, and, oh yeah, I’m really not sure what you want to do- if you want to train me or something? I’m not sure about any of this but I’m trying to learn and I guess I could be ok with you tying me up or something but-“

“Blaine!” Kurt’s loud voice breaks through his disjointed rambling. From the tone of it, Blaine thinks maybe Kurt has been trying to get his attention for a while. “Oh my god, Blaine what the- I mean…what is… _ohmygod_!” Blaine looks up in time to see a very red faced Kurt, before said face is covered by Kurt’s long fingers and Blaine is sure his own body is blushing because he can feel his skin crawling with chagrin.

“Oh my god, what in the actual hell are you talking about?” Kurt’s voice has risen to a dangerously embarrassed squeak, muffled only by his hands, which are still covering his face.

“Umm,” Blaine leans forward, burying his face in the bed and trying not to cry or run away because this is so much more embarrassing and awkward than he’d planned on it being, “I found your stuff…in your closet. A-and umm, maybe that wasn’t the best way to bring it up, but I was so nervous-“ He feels rather than sees Kurt’s hand shoving his shoulder, and obliging, sits back up. Still refusing to meet Kurt’s eyes, Blaine toys with a loose thread coming off of his pants.

“Blaine, what are you _talking_ about?”

Now Kurt sounds frustrated and a little annoyed and Blaine is _just. so. embarrassed._ Blaine gets off the bed, feet tangling in the comforter- he trips and almost falls then rights himself, pushing the doors of Kurt’s closed open. He ignores the way Kurt flinches as they bang against the wall, heedless of Kurt’s exclamations to be careful, before tearing through the plastic totes. Finally finding the one he wants, he opens it, spilling the contents onto the floor. Breathing heavy, he toes through the mass of leather and straps.

“Accessories? This is about accessories??” Now Kurt sounds sort of unhinged and a little hysterical and Blaine is frowning and a little upset himself. Is Kurt being deliberately obtuse?

“Accessories? Kurt you have a…collar and like…this thing, whatever the hell it’s called.” He shakes it at Kurt, the metal rings chiming against each other, “I just…I- if you are into this stuff that’s ok, I- I, I just need to know what you--I mean….” Unable to articulate what he’s thinking, Blaine throws down the mass of leather straps. He blows out an uneven breath, then meets Kurt’s eyes which have been getting wider and wider as his voice has gotten louder and louder.

“Blaine…” Kurt is biting his lip, and Blaine thinks that maybe Kurt is about to really tell him, to make some sort of confession; only his face is contorting. For one panicked moment Blaine is terrified that Kurt might actually cry, but before any of that can happen, Kurt is laughing.

“Are…are you laughing at me?” Blaine speaks quietly, not really appreciating being laughed at by Kurt, yet again.

“I’m sorry.” To his credit, Blaine can tell Kurt is trying not to laugh, “It’s just…you thought I was into- I mean…” And here he really does start laughing again, dissolving against the bed. Between bouts of laughter Blaine thinks he can hear Kurt mumbling, “safe word” and “snacks”- that one in particular seems to bring on a wave of laughter long and loud enough to have Kurt clutching his sides.

Eventually he calms down enough to sit up, gesturing towards Blaine with a hand,

“Come here.” It’s quiet, Kurt’s voice, tinged affection and amusement, and Blaine is trying not to be annoyed or offended. With a sigh he moves, sitting stiffly next to his boyfriend.

“Blaine.” Kurt shifts, taking Blaine’s hand and trying to pull him closer. Grudgingly, Blaine lets himself be maneuvered back, until they’re lying side by side and facing one another.

“Can you tell me the slowed down and not quite as insane version of this insanity?” Closing his eyes with a sigh, Blaine snuggles closer. He’s still embarrassed, yes, but this is…nice. Being close, talking. Knowing that he can make a complete ass of himself and yet Kurt still wants to lay with him and talk about it.

“The other day, when I was looking for a scarf, I found…those. And…I didn’t…I mean I never considered that you’d be into _that._ ” Kurt’s quirked eyebrow is question enough, and rolling his eyes, Blaine huffs through the next part, finding the words uncomfortable and awkward in his mouth, “Bondage.”

“Bondage?” Kurt’s voice is incredulous, “Blaine, I can’t even be your ‘gay bar superstar’ but you think I’m into bondage?” Blaine sighs, remembering that night, after the play; remembering Kurt telling him how proud he was to be with him. Everything that happened that night had been new and incredible and surreal. Remembering how loved, just incredibly loved he’d felt, being trusted with Kurt. Delirious with forgiveness he wasn’t sure he’d deserved or earned, scared and awed to be trusted to love and touch and be close, so close, with this incredible boy.

“Ok I know, but it...I just…you don’t like to talk about stuff and I thought maybe that was why, like maybe you had this secret…fetish or something and you didn’t know how to talk to me about it. And I don’t know anything about bondage really, so I was…confused.”

“I’ll say.” Kurt’s sassy tone has Blaine blinking then smiling.

“So…you aren’t into bondage?” He tries not to sound hopeful. Because right now, he’s really just a horny teenage boy. He kind of just wants to get his hands in Kurt’s pants. He wants to take time and learn things _with_ Kurt, to go on this journey together, and maybe get to things like secret sex kinks eventually. But all of that seems complicated and embarrassing and way over his head when right now, he just want to touch Kurt’s dick. To make Kurt feel good, to be close to him.

“No! Oh my god Blaine, no! I just… I mean…aesthetically, they work for some looks. You see this kind of thing on catwalks all the time!”

“Oh my god, why didn’t I think of that?” Blaine wails, tilting his head into Kurt’s shoulder and laughing.

“Hmm,” Kurt’s fingers wind through the hair at the base of his neck tenderly. He sounds… happy. Despite his own mortification, Blaine is happy too. “We _had_ just been making out, maybe your mind was…in a different place.” His words are a bit shy, slightly hesitant, and Blaine smiles against the smooth skin of Kurt’s neck, inhaling and exhaling and wanting to soak Kurt’s smell and skin into his body.

“I think it might have been,” he says a little mournfully, before leaning in to tease a nibbling kiss over Kurt’s lips. What starts gentle and slow soon isn’t enough. It’s this, this thing where they talk, that makes him feel so close to Kurt, so open and vulnerable. He’s in awe of it, a little, how much he loves feeling vulnerable with Kurt, because he trusts so much that Kurt is _there._ Will be there.

Even better, he knows that Kurt trusts him too, which is the best kind of gift. It makes him long, aching under his skin to crawl closer; his lips part Kurt’s more roughly, hands stuttering as they grab, bruising and hard to pull Kurt closer. They are wrapped around each other, breathing into each other, shifting, until Kurt’s gasp breaks something in the air around them and he’s grinding down hard against Blaine’s leg.

“We-“ he fists his hands in the argyle of Blaine’s vest, “Were supposed to talk about _this_.” His head is tilted back, allowing Blaine to bite and kiss his way up to one gloriously pinked ear.

“Ok.” Blaine’s voice mumbles against his year, sending shivers coursing through Kurt. Blaine is trembling with pleasure and wanting so badly to be closer. “Talking…words.” Blaine’s mouth is over his now, tongue darting out and licking a little, just inside Kurt’s lip, teasing.

“Mmmm.” Kurt’s moan tingles all the way through Blaine, thrilling and more than he’s prepared for. Before he even realizes what he’s doing Blaine has rolled over, tucking himself against Kurt, hips and thighs and cocks and tongues. Kurt’s whimpers become more and more desperate, his hips urgently bucking up against Blaine.

“Kurt is this…” Blaine hesitates, pulling away just a bit. Kurt’s cheeks are red and his eyes closed, and god he looks _edible_. This moment, this thing, is everything he’s wanted but been afraid to ask for- something rushed and heady, all hormones and wanting. The lights are on, and their moans are whispered, because they aren’t really alone in the house. He’s wanted and been afraid to reach for impulse and recklessness, but somehow this ridiculous conversation about bondage and safewords seems to have blown the door open for a lot more and Blaine thinks, _it’s ok_.

“I’m ok if you are.” Kurt whispers shyly, not bothering to open his eyes, fingers gentle and soft as they find their way into and under Blaine’s shirt, feather light and _god_ , Blaine is so turned on, Kurt’s touch feels like electricity, each fingertip shocking against his skin and his forehead is pressed hard against Kurt’s. Control gone, he’s rocking now, rocking against Kurt where they are both so hard and aching against each other and Kurt is looking at him now. The room is mostly silent, so quiet as they look and look and take in each delicious moment, the friction and wanting and Blaine feels the tears in his eyes, sees them mirrored by Kurt because, wow, he really, _really_ loves Kurt. They move, frantic and needy, unraveling into the other’s arms and mouths.

“Blaine- B-Blaine wait.” Kurt is stuttering against his lips, fingers grabbing at his hips and it is so hard to breathe and think and stop but he does.

“I’m sorry, sorry-“ He’s panting and a little embarrassed but so achingly hard, “I didn’t mean to push-“

“No, no,” he can feel the way Kurt is shaking against him, Kurt’s fingers are far from steady as he pulls Blaine in for a kiss, “I just…I don’t really want to mess up my pants…can we maybe, um,” He is biting his lip and Blaine is nodding and shifting as Kurt’s fingers push at him, until he’s on his side and they are at the button of his jeans and he’s just staring.

“Is this...is this ok?” Kurt’s fingers are paused and Blaine is working in slow but powerful bursts of thought.

_Breathe._

_Kurt’s parents are home._

_But, oh my god, yes._

He manages to nod, watching as Kurt stands and closes his door quietly, moving back toward him with that special kind of stealthy and sinuous grace that is just so Kurt. He reaches, pulling Kurt down and onto him, feeling Kurt’s fingers fumble at his button, excited and nervous. Then his hands are there helping and then, wow, there it is, his cock. Kurt’s fingers are ghosting, tracing over it reverently, staring at it like his dick can cure cancer or something. And yeah, it’s not necessarily new, being exposed or naked, but they’ve always done this in semi darkness and never like this, rushed and on that edge of excitement that is equal parts hormones and terror that they might get caught. Blaine groans, putting shaking fingers to Kurt’s pants.

“I know I don’t say it a lot.” Kurt breathes, quiet, “But I love you.”

Blaine leans in, brushing his nose against Kurt’s before laying soft kisses against his cheekbones, flushed red. He can see how Kurt closes his eyes and stills as they both work his tight jeans down, exposing him; Kurt’s cock is _perfect_ , long and pink, and he can’t help but stare at it. Blaine touches, thinking, somewhat stupidly, _this is so much better than porn_. He drags his fingers over it, slow and steady, over the wet head and circling, feeling the heat and throb. There’s something about this, something that feels furtive and a little dirty in the best way. Something that makes him just want to stare, to preserve this picture. Kurt still dressed, pants pushed hastily out of the way, breath heaving and so unbelievably sexy.

“Blaine, umm.” Kurt’s fingers are white tipped where they are digging into his forearm, “Not that this isn’t…ohhhh….amazing, but…” Blaine watches, dying a little when he sees Kurt licking his lips nervously, pink tongue tempting and distracting. “Can you maybe stop staring?”

“Oh.” Pulling back a little, Blaine lays carefully next to Kurt so that they are facing each other. “Yeah.”

Kurt shifts, leaning over him to rummage through his bedtable drawer, before settling back down, stretching out next to Blaine as close as he can, kissing and licking into Blaine’s mouth, hands tugging them closer still. Groaning as quietly as possible, Blaine rolls into heat his body seeks, draping on leg over Kurt’s hip, leaning forward and kissing Kurt, sweet kisses that soon heat until his tongue is thrusting past his lips, fucking into Kurt’s mouth and Kurt is trembling and moaning, rubbing desperately against him. Together they push pants and underwear further down before moving closer, eyes on each other. Careful, Kurt pours some of the lube into his hand before wrapping a hand around both of their cocks. At first it’s awkward and they are both shivering and trying not to giggle as they find some comfortable way to lay murmuring admonitions to stay quiet into the other’s mouth.

And then suddenly it’s shifting, from tentative and awkward to something else, something much more desperate and intense. It’s incredible, the friction and the heat; they push against each other, slippery and throbbing, cocks sliding between them. He’s torn, hand on Kurt’s hip, wanting to watch the frankly pornographic image of their flesh, swollen and hard and aching as they rub against each other. Eyes locked on Kurt’s, he watches him instead, the way each gasp etches its way onto and through his beautiful face.

Eyes wide and dark, Kurt is unblinking, pushing hard against Blaine. Soon they are close, _so close_ , and everything is frantic hands and stuttered kisses; Kurt is rolling over him and it’s sloppy and desperate, Blaine’s shirt and sweater getting pushed up and out of the way and Kurt is whimpering, biting down on his own lip, trying to keep himself quiet as they both come, hard and messy; it washes over and through them, wrecking and sweet, their eyes never leaving the other’s.

~*~

And it’s later, much later, when it finally comes up again. Past the tender minutes of afterglow, holding each other and breathing the same air, full of, _ohmygodthatjusthappened_ , and whispers of _I love you so much_. Past the embarrassment of cleaning up and putting clothes back in place and holding hands and smiling, laughing and overwhelmed at each other. Past that moment, when Blaine is sure he wants to die, when Burt comes knocking on Kurt’s door. Because somehow he’s managed to ignore the fact that Kurt’s parent’s are home and he just totally had sex with Kurt in the same house, while they were there. And he’s positive, positive Burt can smell it on the air or tell by the hectic flush all over his son’s body but he doesn’t say anything, just gives Blaine a hard look and tells them that it is late and Blaine needs to go soon if he doesn’t want to miss his curfew.

It’s two am, on the phone, and they are quiet with each other, just breathing and occasionally whispering something sappy or tender.

“I’m sorry.” Blaine says, finally.

“What?” Kurt sounds a little worried and Blaine has to resist the urge to facepalm, “No, no no not sorry about…that. Sorry about before. You know, with the word vomit and the embarrassing speech about safe words.” Glad that he can at least laugh about it now, Blaine doesn’t stop the giggle that escapes at the words. Everything seems easier and yet, more challenging now. He feels so much more connected, so much more in tandem with Kurt. Which is scary because it’s a lot of responsibility- keeping someone safe and being careful with them. But he knows that he’s in Kurt’s hands just as much as Kurt is in his, and that makes it ok. Makes it wonderful.

“It’s ok.” Kurt’s voice is quiet and Blaine laughs louder,

“Oh my god, Kurt if you knew the things I read and saw when trying to research. I think I might be scarred for life! There was this one story about a woman an-“

“NO! Blaine, no no no please, please do not scar me for life. I don’t think my brain can handle whatever it is that you feel like you need to share right now.”

“Kuuuurrrt” He’s whining shamelessly now and Kurt is laughing helplessly and he sounds so young, so young and so _his_ and every part of his body feels bright and warm and loved,

“No! You are the one who jumped to ridiculous conclusions because you are too horny to think clearly.” And Blaine is gasping, laughing and stuttering and they are both laughing together. As they talk, drifting closer to sleep together, Blaine thinks how close he still feels, even this far apart and in different towns, different homes, different beds. He closes his eyes and feels the memory of Kurt’s fingers, cool and grasping at his skin, of Kurt’s eyes, dark and wide, on his.

“Love you.” It’s a whispered promise and they are both half asleep and Blaine is sure Kurt is already asleep by the time he manages to mumble it back but he doesn’t care. It’s as if Kurt really had tied him up, only in a different way and now Blaine feels connected and bound and like Kurt is the thing that is keeping him tethered and real. He falls asleep to the sound of Kurt’s breathing, even and sweet, wanting and hoping to feel this forever, to be tangled up with everything Kurt for as long as he can.”


End file.
